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She rolled her eyes. Typical Sam—vague and grumpy.
Riley: Woah! Is the taciturn-caveman routine back in style? Because nobody told us womenfolk!
Sam: The pamphlets in the glove box. I know you put them there. Probably last week when you tricked me into driving you and the girls to the outlet mall.
She let out a little choked laugh. Oh, those pamphlets. She’d almost forgotten about that spur-of-the-moment stunt.
Riley: I’m a sex columnist. It’s my responsibility to spread the word about safe sex.
Sam: This had nothing to do with safe sex, and everything to do with you making sure I didn’t HAVE any sex.
True, true. The man did know her well.
Riley: Well then clearly Angelica didn’t read the pamphlets. It says VERY clearly that there are mul
tiple treatment options.
Sam: Her name is ANGELA, and she didn’t stick around long enough to read the pamphlets, and I DO NOT HAVE GENITAL WARTS.
She snickered. Riley could just picture him angrily punching the keyboard on his touch screen while cursing her name.
Admittedly, sticking the Dealing with Genital Warts pamphlets she’d swiped from the gyno’s office into his glove box had been a bit juvenile, but it meant he was alone tonight instead of feeling up Angelina.
She couldn’t even bother to hide the grin.
Gotta go, Sammy, she typed as Steven returned to the table. On a date.
Riley dropped the phone back into her purse and beamed at Steven, feeling happier than she had all night.
“Everything all right?” he asked politely.
“Oh, sure,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Just an old friend needing some relationship advice.”
“Well, they’re lucky to have a career relationship expert as a friend, then.”
Riley gave a distant smile as she felt her purse vibrate slightly against her calf. It would be Sam again. Don’t pick up that phone. Do not pick up that phone.
“You know, Steven, would you mind if I check this, just one last time,” she asked, already reaching for the phone. “It’s just he’s so—”
“He?”
Oops. Steven’s smile had slipped. Crap. She seemed to remember Grace writing an article about this once. No mentioning other guys early on in the dating process.
“Just my brother’s best friend,” she hurried to explain. “We grew up together. Practically siblings.”
They weren’t all lies. Sam really was best friends with her older brother, Liam. And she and Sam had grown up together, if you counted the late-teen years. And as for the siblings part …
She glanced down at his message. A date with whom?
Whom. Damn it. Didn’t he know that there was nothing sexier to a journalist than proper grammar?
Steven. I think this one might be a keeper, she typed back.
She waited. And waited some more, flashing an apologetic smile at an irritated-looking Steven. Come on, Sam. Get jealous. Just a little.
Finally, Sam responded. Can’t wait to meet him. Have fun.
And just like that, Riley deflated. She did this to herself every damn time, holding on to the hope that she and Sam would actually cross that line between bickering and flirting, curiosity and jealousy. Between friends and lovers.
